“You were saying?”
“Stealth, girl. Stealth.” She pushes her hair over her shoulder and keeps going. “So, the story I told you about the guys who stole Ken Garretts parents’ safe at the end-of-the-year party—”
“Says you.”
“They were the only ones who showed up uninvited. Everyone else that was there had been there before, minus them, and one even screwed Ken’s girlfriend earlier that week.” She sips her drink with sass. “Ken kept her sorry ass, but still. It happened.”
“That’s hardly motive to lift a safe.”
“Ugh.” Cali sets her drink down beside her. “You are such a lawyer’s daughter.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re worried about them stealing, tell them to kick rocks.”
“And then those rocks end up through the side of the pool and over the fucking cliff everyone in it goes.”
Her dramatic spat has me pinching my lips as not to laugh at her.
She leans forward, speaking in an unexpectedly serious tone. “The safe issue was the last thing that happened, not the only. It’s always something with them. They’re psychotic. Unpredictable. Someone always gets fucked when they’re around, figuratively and, well, literally.” She takes a long drink.
I find myself trying to get closer, the need for some examples suddenly high, but before I can ask, or stop myself, my eyes snap over her shoulder, landing directly on the unfamiliar view not ten feet away.
Minus my mandatory ‘hook the hunk’ exploits, I’ve spent the last two and a half months with the same group of people. Every couple of nights, there were a solid five to ten newcomers, but it’s at the point now where those who were gone for the summer have returned, so I’ve seen every face at least twice now.
Had Cali not pointed out the strangers’ appearance tonight, I’d have spotted them eventually, and been fully aware this was the first party they graced with their presence.
And goddamn, is grace not meant to be given.
All freaking hail the trifecta of trouble straight ahead.
I start with the one on the end and slowly—very slowly—make my way along the others.
Hot, hot, and yep. Hotter.
No matter your flavor of choice, one is bound to hit your tastebuds just right. Probably linger along your tongue in favor of more.
I wonder if they’re too high in demand for ‘more’?
“Will you stop staring?!” Cali hides her lips against her glass.
My gaze snaps to hers. “Girl, chill, they’re not paying any attention to us. They’re otherwise occupata.”
“Occupied by who?” Her eyes narrow, her curiosity and impatience equally piqued.
I lift a shoulder. “Guess you have to look to know for sure.”
Her frown tightens and it takes effort not to laugh. Cali puts her elbow on the tabletop, purposefully jerking and knocking a napkin to the floor so she has an excuse to glance behind her as if this isn’t her house and the rights not completely hers.
She straightens, repositioning herself in front of me with a full-on stank face.
“Poor taste must be contagious,” she mutters under her breath.
Her annoyance has nothing to do with them and everything to do with the girl, I think her name is Sammie, who has placed herself in front of them. Two nights ago, we sat back while little Miss Thang stuck her tongue down Cali’s ex’s throat.
“I don’t know, she’s kind of hot,” I tease and Cali flips me off. “So, who are these pretty party crashers?”
“Ransom Rossi, Arsen Agular, and Beretta Keller, but pretty isn’t the word I’d use.”
We turn to Scott Gentry as he steps up beside me, his attempt at a careless expression lacking in finesse.
“And what word would you use?”
“Trash,” he says unapologetically.
I squint, tipping my head. “I’m pretty sure one of them is wearing fall Givenchy.”
“I’m not talking money.” He shrugs. “But while you are, they don’t come from it. Those assholes are going nowhere quick. They’re hardly passing, couldn’t even make the grades enough to stay on the team. They’re future felons, one already spent a summer in juvenile hall. They’re around fucking things up and pretending they don’t wish they were more like us, but then show for our parties and fuck with girls they have no business with. They’re wasted air around this place, doing who knows what to afford to stick around. I don’t know why anyone wastes their time with them.”
“Maybe we should ask Ken’s girlfriend?” I joke.
Cali laughs, choking on her drink.
He cuts her a quick glare. “Like I said, they fuck with girls they have no business with, playing their stupid games.”
I keep my eyes on Scott.
So, he hates that they don’t care to be in the cool kids’ club. Noted.
I shift, positioning myself in front of him and a smirk hints at the corner of his lips. He takes my move as invitation to slip closer, his drunken gaze falling to the opening of my robe as if he has plans to unravel it.
As if he expects I’ll allow him to.
Scott Gentry is the picture of privilege.
“What games?”
His brows furrow slightly, but he shrugs. “People call it ‘blackout.’”
“Blackout?”
“They show up, the power goes out. Blackout,” he explains, half in the conversation, half perving on me, his tongue unabashedly gliding along his lips for all to see, then his eyes come back to mine. “The gist, the lights go out and shit happens but it’s not every time. Sometimes it’s nothing more than a need to be remembered upon exit and they get their little fifteen minutes where they matter.” Displeasure drips from his clipped tone. “Other times they fight, snag a girl to hook up—”
“Steal,” Cali interrupts, full of sass, and pops an overly embellished brow.
I bug my eyes at her playfully.
“One time, the power didn’t even come back on.” Jules skips up, snagging the bottle from Cali’s grasp. “A flame lit up the place instead.”
“A flame?”
She smiles. “They literally lit Kay Kerr’s parents’ prize Bonsai on fire, and Kay couldn’t even rat them out because she wasn’t supposed to be in town when it happened.”
My tongue slips between my teeth. “That’s a drag.”
“Yep. Now let’s forget about the shadows in the back. Quit babysitting your drink, we went easy with champagne tonight.” She looks to my flute. “And you, my dear, are far too sober.”
“All I know is, if they pull some shit tonight, make sure my casket’s amethyst and diamond-encrusted.” Cali tops off her drink yet again. “We all know my mom will murder my ass if so much as a scarf is missing.” She tears away from the counter and heads into the den, leaving us to laugh at her expense.
The conversation shifts to the events of the last gathering, and we move along the groups. When everyone’s distracted enough, I break away once more, lowering myself onto the empty sofa near the open doors, and my bored-ass mind begins playing on an infinite loop, circling the party in search of some excitement that doesn’t involve a half-naked couple or a shattered bottle that’s slipped from a tipsy blonde’s fingers.